Who

Bailey, El'ai, T'zaim, D'cen, F'in, Kehm, Nika, Bentley, Iviano, Sammael, Colt | Artolome Cameo, Shebara Cameo

What

Khalyssrielth goes up over the hold when Dhiammarath goes up over the weyr, 'cause she's a bitch. Denivoth prevents incestuous hijinix.

Language sex and everything fun in the world. Oh and incest mentions.

When

It is evening of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the fifth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Springs, Southern Barrier Hold

OOC Date 08 Aug 2015 05:00

 

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Stranger sex for everyone!


the_springs.jpg

The Springs

The Springs
If one took a simple grotto and expounded upon it with the exponentially large space coefficient that the hold seems to be built upon, one would have the vaunted hot springs of Southern's icehold: for here there is stone and steam, secluded pools and public ones. So much variety, from frigid to scalding and all the stair-steps in between: and steps of stairs leading downwards from the entrance to the main hall, winding in between the natural pools to terminate at a heavy, engraved door.


The Farmercraft occasionally knows how to throw down. SEE the Hold, decked out in splendor for this midwinter event. The Springs are a mass of greenery along the more temperate perimeter, boasting a full showing of faux-hedges to make this whole area mazelike. For those who dare to enter the mazery, there are precious, fragile blooms showcased in strange glass water containers. Servers quietly circulate, bringing chilled beverages and fingerfoods. Holders and Crafters drift through the steam, and there are some exclaimations for the humidity and said affect on clothing. Whups. Who'da thunk about getting all the Who's Who of Pern wet?

Kehm too many riders. Conceals himself behind corpse flower.

D'cen has no idea what he's doing here, frankly. Flowers? Why the hell is he here loking at flowers? He's hoping that he doesn't run into anyone he actually -knows- at the Weyr. I mean, he's stuck in the wing htat nobody sees or hears from, so maybe he can go by unnoticed right? There's a corresponding grimace on his face that he tries to mask by grabbing a glass of wine from a serving tray. Also: He blames Raxsonath.

Flowers and drinks and people dressed all nice. Sounds like T'zaim's kinda gig. He's even found some random girl with whom to stroll amid the poseys for a bit; presumably, she's like a Farmer or at least a gardener or something, since she seems to have lots to say on the subject of some especially elegant and presumably rare bloom being cultivated in one of those glass container things. Anyway, she's pretty so he looks appropriately captivated.

Bailey is here, providing a dual function: one, to be the circulating face of Southern Weyr at this esteemed event… and second, Dhiammarath is glowing, which means Khalyssrielth is BANISHED. Bailey would probably rather be in Telgar than here, though (and everyone knows how much she hates Telgar), but here she is, fake smile plastered onto her face as she makes pleasant small-talk with a Masterfarmer who is rather over-the-top discussing a particularly fragrant bloom. Her eyes drift first to D'cen, then to T'zaim. Someone. Someone come save her.

Sometimes, people show up to these kinds of shindigs that just don't fit in. See: one Colt, scroungy in his scruffy attire and shifty-around-the-edges expressions. He ducks to avoid one official-looking guardsman, picks up a fragile glass of champagne that looks entirely foreign in his hands, and swag-walks his way through the hedge maze while drinking it. In one gulp. 'Cause he's classy as shit like that.

Oh look, someone who looks like they hate being here as much as D'cen does! Like a naieve moth to the frosted flame, his feet find themselves walking towards her. "I think I saw a flower wilting two turns of the maze away." he asides to the Masterfarmer talking Bailey's ear off. "Smelled bloody awful too. Someone better check on that." Meaningfully, he looks over the edge of his glass. Once the poor man scurries, the bronzerider's expression goes back to it's normal uncomfortableness. "You hate flowers too?" Best pickup line EVER. Amirite?

The Hold's prodigal son hath returned the day prior with the fanfare of a tomcat: much eating, remarking of territory and mating when possible. Kehm consorted in the bathing pools for hours, taking in the warm water he hadn't seen in months. Then this morning he did the same thing for a shorter duration, and now presents himself at an ocassion he has no real interest in save for the people he may or may not see. The wildling is minus his accoutrement of furs, instead groomed in a rufous tunic and personally crafted leather arm bracers. Matching greaves over dark brown breeches make him almost as hide-demanding as the coterie of dragonriders, but as a leatherworker it doesn't seem so out of character. Having already eaten like the half-starved man he was, these dainty hors d'oeuvres don't have to be wolfed down though they do reach his belly in one bite.

Sammael is here — why is he here? Probably to visit with Ulrik and then this farm thing happened and so now he lingers on the fringes, eyeing everything distrustfully. He has no love lost for any kind of authority, but maybe there's one or three people in the crowd that have caught his eye. Maybe it's Colt with the awkwardly fragile glass, because that's where he's ambling. "Where'd you get that?" he asks, in aside. In retrospect, Sammael actually can cut a dashing figure when he dresses up (in black and white affair) - so maybe he came on purpose.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: There's ice a'plenty in Southern Hold, and make no mistake: Khalyssrielth's chilled iron casually trails frozen spikes along those few handfuls of heated males back at the weyr. Oh, wait, those were for Dhiammarath? Oops. She's not distracting them at all, surely, not tempting fate by trickling attention back weyrwards. (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: An expansive starburst sky expands outward from the pinnacle of a zen garden, floating evermore in the vast and endless space of time and existence. Heat is threaded and woven through the starlight supernovas caught in the stone lanterns that grace this place of zen with a sultry seduction that pulls all of the males towards her. Khalyssrielth's chilling trails are burned away by starlight and sunflares. Hers. Soon, this heat whispers. Soon. As in REALLY SOON. (Dhiammarath)

T'zaim does not respond to Bailey's pleading looks for help. Partially, this is because he's absorbed (or faking it really well) in what the pretty girl on his arm is saying, and partially because D'cen's already there. Go, Team Bronze! Anyway, he and his date do kinda drift in that general direction, putting them at least conversationally close enough to D'cen-Bailey that, when the opportunity arises, they can form a quartet~! But, for now, he's nodding and mhm'ing with gusto while his date chatters on about pistils and anthers and stuff.

Iviano looks every bit like he fits in here, he's been making friends with the locals for days now. After all, what can a poor sea trader do when his family's ship is grounded because of those pesky pirates. His eyes scan the crowd, does it linger on anyone imparticular? Does anyone look familiar? One wouldn't think so as he heads into the crowd looking at things and people.

The Masterfarmer looks abruptly alarmed, and walks away from Bailey without even saying GOODBYE. How rude. But the radiant smile Bails tips up to D'cen is quite the opposite, genuinely grateful. Maybe a little smugly satisfied with his manner of dealing with the man, too. "They've got their place," Bailey replies to the bronzerider's question, flicking her attention over towards the nearest bloom. "But it seems a stretch to run an entire event on them." Maybe her eyes trail over some of the more suspicious denizens present, her eyes narrowing. (T'zaim, stop being so damned cagey.)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth's rider sucks and will not let him hang around the Weyr while Dhiammarath is looking all glowy like that. Some BS about flowers.

What would a party be without Nika? Nothing, and she just seems to appaer behind T'zaim and his good looking lady friend, "You found a hot date!" Surely the date-woman will enjoy this sudden interuption pecause she got called hot. She's just here to help. Honest.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth thinks « There comes little but the steady thud-thud-thud from somewhere in the vicinity of the Star Stones. Sikorth, the ever present sentinel keeping watch over his domain and one particularly glossy gold. SOON! »

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Dhioth would switch with you, Denivoth, except for some BS about weyrlings.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Atmanth yawns and curls back up, « You guys wake me up the next time a pretty green goes up. Eh? »

"Sure. In a vase somewhere, in the middle of a table. At a … fancy party. Or something." D'cen looks skeptically at one of the glass encased 'special' floral displays. "Behind glass seems like overkill." The only place his gaze will wind up, if not on the person he's talking to, is up at the sky. There is something bothering him; a twitch at the back of the neck making him want to bolt and hide somewhere. But his other half ain't letting him go -anywhere-. His wine winds up finished in one gulp.

There's another here who shouldn't be present, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. Bentley is scrubbed down and dressed up, looking every inch the immaculate sort of well-to-do man who's meant to be at this sort of thing. Not only does he look the part, but he appears well-versed in acting it as well, as the overdressed (and younger) woman on his arm appears nearly overcome with giggles almost every time he opens his mouth.

Colt does not look at Kehm OR Iviano. Maybe he even plans on escaping before they can spot him. But then there's Sammael, there, and he squints his attention hard over to the other man. "Oh," his dysfunctionally deep voice says, as he gestures behind him somewhere, "Somewhere back there." Aaaaaand there it goes, cracking on the last syllable. Freckled Colt turns into Red Freckled Colt, unconsciously flushing with embarassment.

"It most certainly does not, weyrwoman! These flowers are the result of months of careful cultivation, Turns of study," says T'zaim's date so, so earnestly. She turns to Bailey to deliver her impassioned speech, shaking her head vigorously at D'cen to explain, "But they're so fragile that they need the glass." Fortunately, this spiel is delivered right over the top of Nika's opening dialogue, so it's just T'zaim that turns with all panicky eyes and a forced-casual tone. "Something like that. By yourself?"

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: The build up of heat has finally reached its pinnacle; the starlight glow that suffused moonlight-platinum hide has come to the moment, and the great air-barge takes flight. Bloodlust sings through her veins and shatters across the weyr, touching everyone and everything in scorching glory. No acrimonious debate here - simply the weaving of the threads of time into the inevitable. (Dhiammarath)

D'cen just looks at T'zaim like 'Seriously'. That's it. Just looks at him. Just like that.

Kehm encounters some amaryllis-looking bulb in full flower, and admits to appreciate .1% of its structure and how long it took some saps to breed it. Flowers, in the land of everlasting winter, are seldom things. When moving to a new cultivar of apple, is Iviano spotted. A grin cocks and he comes up to the pirate roady, brushing past the hedges, hand poising to clap his shoulder. "Doesn't it just take your breath away." The air, the people, the flowers, the opportunities.

"Yes. Exactly," Bailey replies to D'cen, her expression turning abruptly inward, a furrow lining her brow. It doesn't quite match, given she's otherwise wearing a slim sheath of a party dress, silvery white, and heels. Like three inch heels. That may make her just as tall as all the men in the room, but she doesn't really seem to give a shit. Her eyes narrow abruptly on Bentley, as if in familiarity. "It does seem to be overkill," she speaks distractedly, only to turn her attention to T'zaim. And his date. "Oh yes," she says to the girl. "Turns. Very good."

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Dhioth thinks « Oh shit. »

Splish-splash F'in is takin' a bath, long about seventh-night. Rub-a-dub he is relaxin' in the — these pools ARE meant for relaxin' right? F'in dun care. He is slabbed out, luxuriating, blinking slowly at the hullaballoo nearby that has INTRUDED ON HIS REST.

Oh, F'in.

Iviano does catch a look at someone who walks in, but who couldn't with that woman on his arm. Is she even technically. Someone is trying to hard. But this carmel lad isn't, and so he'll just slide up to this appropriately aged female, oh but then there is Kehm. Damn. "Beautiful." Was that about the flowers or the one who he's now distracted from. "You are here." It is a statement of shock, less about his presence at this particular place, and more that it still mars Pern at all.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Caelth smugs everywhere. All over everyone. He knew somehow there would be trouble; he'd accept no less from his babies. Even their mere existence obviously causes chaos! Mental high-five right now, Khaly.

Maybe Sammael's eyes drift over to Bailey, drawn by a recent encounter with the weyrwoman before his attention is split back to Colt. "Back there?" He glances over his shoulder and eyeballs whether or not he really wants to go back and get that champagne flute. "Eh. I want something harder than some froo-froo shit." Back to Colt - while eyeballing Kehm and Bentley and possibly Iviano - "Name's Sammael." It's rough, but the former convict seems to actually be trying to be a decent member of humanity despite the rage that burns within. At least he's not calling Colt out for his blush.

Nika giggles at T'zaim's paniced look. "Don't worry, man. She's here with you. You aren't going to blow it if you just keep your wits about you." Because surely he was the one who was about to ruin everything. And so she just slips up into the conversation. "Hi, weyrwoman." Beam for Bailey. "The pretty, uh?"

T'zaim answers D'cen's look askew with a shrug. The woman's pretty. She might be weird, but she looks good doing it. Not Bailey good, but. Anyway, she nods brightly as though her proselytizing has made a convert of Bailey and goes back to blathering something about hybridization. So it's the bronzerider that says to Nika, "Thank you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming." His tone is dry (and low enough that his date probably won't hear him over her own drivel), his smile is bright.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth thinks « A challenging roar explodes from the bastard brown who takes flight after the lovely Dhiammarath. Eyes glowing and teeth bared he's hot on the shining star's tail. »

All that inward-directed distraction seems to make sense, now, as the goldrider's brow smoothes out abruptly. "Well," Bailey faintly says, her lips shifting in amusement, "It appears that Dhiammarath just decided to go up in the middle of weyrling graduation." Just in case anyone was CURIOUS. Her eyes shift first to D'cen and then to T'zaim, as if questioning their presence here: and F'in, too, now that she catches a glimpse of him passed out in a pool. There's cursing at the edge of the gathering, and Leopard's wingleader breaks into a run in a hurry to leave the proceedings. "Pretty," Bailey agrees with Nika, because it's always just better to agree with crazy people, DOESN'T EVERYONE THINK SO.

T'zaim, to Bailey, "Mhm." That's all he has to say about that.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth thinks HATEFUL THOUGHTS at all of you. Hateful. With the hate.

D'cen just looks pained. No thanks, he wants nothing to do with a knot THAT shiny. So he'll just stay here. Uncomfortable.

Kehm's grin holds, is the perfect template of passing between friends. "And I have you to thank for it!" That hand comes down on the young man's shoulder, the young man that just maybe saved his life. Kehm's combed hair is gathered in a tuft of a ponytail but it makes his neck cold past the springs. "And we're not alone." Indicating: pirates plural. "What's y'opinion of this one?" Taking the role of guest with sudden gusto, indicating a multi-colored mini rose bush.

Bentley has his eye on all those familiar faces in the room, don't think he doesn't. His eyes skate across their faces, looking without really looking, but that sweeping gaze should be enough to let them know that he's watching them. So, y'know, keep the shady business on the DL. He has a lady to seduce, here. Although given her ridiculous fits of giggles and the way she's staring up at him like he might've hung the sun in the sky, it's unlikely that will require much effort.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Auralyth cheerfully intones, a bright pink mist floating in, « Is it time? Huh? Huh? Oh, you're going to have so much fun, our queen. » Yes, fun.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "… … fuck do you think … … doing? What. The. …" to herself.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Atmanth croons at Auralyth, « Hey, lady cat, you wanna come snuggle up here on my ledge. We can watch the show from here. »

"I am sure you could have found a lot of people who would have loved to do that." Iviano offers a softer grin than Kehm's back at him. "Yes, well. I didn't expect to recognize so many of these flowers. Makes one feel a little cramped, the way they shoved them all in. No?" Still he regards the rose bush in question, "Quite nice, never seen one with more than on color. Would make a fine prize to bring to a date."

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Shattered ice and sundered iron, frostfire flame bursts abruptly outwards, radiating, touching, drawing. Leopard's wingleader will never make it back to the weyr, not with Khalyssrielth diving suddenly to blood on Hold cattle, her siren song of shivering sweetness rising into the air. Callus grip over the sundried bronzes that the Hold presents - almost foreign all, she's counting Benden and Fort on her pleased claws, and readying herself abruptly for once-blooded flight. « Fuck //off/, you giant cunt of a blimp, » her voice sweetly calls to Dhiammarath. You can't HAVE THESE. These are KHALY'S. They don't want no behemoth-born whale anyhow. (Khalyssrielth)

D'cen continues to drink his drink, eyes suddenly darting towards Bailey narrowly when he catches the few words she mutters. And then he turns to Nika. "Crom, right?" No, he's not a conversationalist. But she's short enough to fit the bill of the person who made him hip-thrust at that party. So.. And then his eyes go wide. "Well, shit."

"Oh, fuck." So sayeth Bailey. Because what the fuck else does one say when their lifemate decides to go up OVER A HOLD when there's Lord Holders and shit visiting?

T'zaim's date, to Bailey: "I beg your pardon!" See, that she heard. Not Nika, not T'zaim's sidebars, but Bailey's mutter? Picked up on it like a bat. Maybe all the horrible things she heard about dragonriders really is true! She unhooks her arm from T'zaim's and marches off huffily, leaving the bronzerider to look mournfully after her for a few seconds before blinkety-blinking abruptly. "Wait, what?"

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Blood soaks, hot and sweet down a throat that's held back from consuming flesh. Hurry up boys, this blooding won't last long for Dhiammarath has been WAITING to fly. Only the strongest or the cleverest or (let's be honest) the luckiest will be able to catch her. Starlight saturation against a velvet night sky is a challenge to all. She will take ALL - even the just graduated ones. Until Khalyssrielth pushes herself into flying and then Dhiammarath's regality comes to play as well as her commandment: « THEY ARE MINE YOU LITTLE VTOL. » Thunderous, explosive, and demanding. Yes, people. Southern's golds are playing hungry hungry hippo with the weyr's male populous. (Dhiammarath)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Caelth has to admit, that right there almost makes him turn around and fly towards Khalyssrielth. He LOVES it when she talks dirty like that. « Brrr »

Nika grins wildly at Bailey, "Dhiammarath goes up, up up…so eggs come down down down. BABIES!" Just in time too, since K'ane is graduating a class. Agreeing with crazy people is the way to go, as long as they aren't the kind of crazy that tell you drown your friends or to drink delightfully colored punch. "Too bad you aren't at the weyr." She nudges at …but now suddenly it doesn't seem to matter. Her eyes go crazy at Bailey. And she backs up a few steps. Danger. Danger. Well, maybe T'zaim's date is now up for grabs.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Just because you're a fucking troll doesn't mean everyone has to go for that kind of thing, DHIAMMARATH. (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Just because you like to live under bridges in the TRASH, doesn't mean everyone likes to be classless, KHALYSSRIELTH. (Dhiammarath)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth's glee is sudden and completely out of character. It's the dragon equivalent of skipping giddily through fields of daisies while singing showtunes. Yes, yes, there's all that lust and answering to Khalyssrielth's siren song and blah blah blah, but really, he's just tickled effing pink to stick it to his rider like this. Best day ever.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Atmanth gets a bag of popcorn and curls up to watch the show.

At this point, Sammael is getting quite a bit of entertainment watching the crowds of riders apparently gossip about shit going down at the weyr. Hearing "Dhiammarath" causes the man's face to close into a glower, and he does go back for that stupid little delicate glass. It's not hard to see that the former convict, now bartender, is losing his patience.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Don't mind Sekhaenkath; Yes. He is here, chasing his mother so that his lifemate could possibly bang his sister. THIS IS NOT WHITE TRASH AT ALL, OKAY? (Sekhaenkath)

"OH FUCK NO."

"OH FUCK YES. BAILLLLEEEEEEEY. I'M HEEEEREEEE!!!" That is El'ai. Who has suddenly turned into that annoying little brother from across the way.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Caelth implodes. All the evil cattiness just drowns him in (blood)lust. He can't decide who to CHASE. Forget about his rider, stuck at the weyrling graduation. They're both bitches so he wants them ALL! Which means he ain't getting either. Blackness consumes him, but he's absolutely going to take another dragon down with him. Sorry whoever is fling beside him, you just got clawed.

This won't be awkward at all.

Time to scoot, so Nika does bouncing over to the bar. This is far more safe than being by a goldrider whose dragon is being cray cray. "Drink. Please. Shits 'bout to get real…" She leans in towards the bartender, "Ewww, is that her brother? Is he going to chase." The time for dramatic sychronized gasping is now, crowd. "Better make it a double."

Would it be wrong for T'zaim to burst into fits of laughter right now? 'Cause he kinda does. Like, doubled over and wiping tears out of his eyes style laughter. Manic laughter. "You guys - you guys - " Inarticulate with the hysterics. T'zaim is broken, sorry.

"GO THE FUCK AWAY EL'AI, DON'T MAKE ME CUT YOUR SHIT OFF." Bailey's backing up suddenly, her face spasming. Other people have sexy flights. Bailey looks like a trapped animal, eyes flicking from one bronzerider to the other, her chin going downwards in denial. Unsurprisingly, there are massive amounts of people evacuating right about now. Holders looking suddenly surprised (and embarassed about shit happening in pants): do y'all feel it? DO YOU FEEL WHAT THE KHALY IS COOKING.

Obviously Raxsonath is not going to let Khalyssrielth go up without all available choices; his swaggering bronze ass is totally going to chase. « IS it cold outside, or are you just happy to see me? » Well, we all know why D'cen STILL has no good pickup lines at least. "Can I have another drink? I need another drink!" he decides, looking for just a bottle to grab and chug. Seriously.

Colt's still here, posted up next to Sammael and watching the craziness go down. "God, riders are weird as fuck." Just in case the other man doesn't know.

Kehm sheds a shrug at the imaginary line formed to help cauterize his flesh. "Oddly, yes but I've the feeling they would've done a foul job." A la hot poker then added in a free throat slit. Though the pair of them are looking at the rosebush, Kehm's attention to it has halted. He's listening, words pieced through the hedges beyond and the growing fracas of dragonriders. "Let's go… over here." Where they won't be so cornered in by the labyrinth of green. He's also searching for Bentley he know he saw earlier.

"OH YEAH? COME CUT MY SHIRT OFF, BAILEY." Where Bailey is backing up, El'ai is trying to power through the crowds. What? This isn't the sexy flight? This is like an episode of Shameless? Welcome to Khalyssrielth's flights! D'cen… T'zaim… okay he stops by T'zaim to see the man doubled over laughing. "My sister has something for that." That's RIGHT. It is SHAMELESS sister sex talk time. "I'M REALLY GOOD IN BED, BAILEY." Because who doesn't want a massive dose of awkward? It's like Exploding Kittens all up in this bitch, and El'ai? El'ai is the exploding kitten.

Iviano does, "Umm…" Roses, Kehm, look at the roses. "Flowers." Sputter. "What the fuck is going on." Because having only heard about this kinda of thing, "Yes, away from the…" Things. "Riders." Surely that will help.

Rhakanth may have had a reason to be here, it seems, drawing his rider South and farther. The dozing bronzerider drags himself from the waters and schleps on clothes, movements growing clearer, more focused as Rhakanth's intensity resolves. He puts a hand to his head. "Whoa." He is faintly steaming as he joins the throng of flower-enthusiasts gesturing for a drink from the… is there a bar here? Wherever Nika and D'cen are. That's where he is. To the bluerider, "So. What's the haps?" Bitran brogue thick and lazy and the broad and slanting grin he gives her suggests that he knows just what the haps are.

THIS IS NOT GAME OF THRONES EL'AI. STOP TRYING TO MAKE GOT HAPPEN. IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

BUT IT MIGHT OKAY?!

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth thinks « The insults being tossed back and forth between the pair of duelling golds are for the most part, ignored. Sikorth's attention wholly and truly focussed on his prize and all those that would think they can steal her from him. Any that get too close are treated to snapping jaws and growling hisses, his long sinuous tail lashing out at the nearest brown. Was that Caelth? Whups! »

THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH SOME FAMILIAL LOVE.

Once Sammael has proper fortification, he shoots a look at Colt. "Yeah, they are. Wanna get the fuck out of dodge while we can? I don't really want to fuck… that… mess." Because listen. This is awkward. SO AWKWARD.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Up, up, up and away! Blood sings and the skies beckon: Southern's Senior Queen has taken to the skies for that final flight, reaching far deep within herself for the stamina to fly long and hard towards the twilight starlight. To all and asunder: Dhiammarath brings order to the chaotic bitch-fest between warring golds. And she will COLLECT THEM ALL… all the browns and bronzes. « The challenge awaits. » (Dhiammarath)

It really doesn't take Khalyssrielth that long at all to go up. Because she's in the air RIGHT NOW, like this is some kind of race, like if she beats Dhiammarath to the sexin' that she WINS LIFE. Though let's face it, Khaly thinks she wins life anyhow. Even as Dhiammarath takes off at the weyr, Khaly does at the hold, and Bailey puts El'ai's whole behavioral repertoire on extinction and narrows her eyes abruptly at T'zaim. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"

Bentley may not have a handy dragon to let him know what's going on, but he does have sharp ears, and enough basic knowledge of the Weyr to put two and two together. His date? Not so much. "What's happening?" she asks blindly, even as people exit around them. "Is the party somewhere else?" Bentley, for his part, looks about ready to facepalm. Hey, team pirate? Might be time to make a quick exit. His efforts to usher his date out of the way eventually lead him toward Kehm. When he spots the wildling and Iviano, he's quick to say, "We should go." But maybe not before helping themselves to anything of value, first?

"Yeah, let's." That's Colt, following Sammael out. Notably — of INTEREST — the boy doesn't seem to be following the line of Kehm and Bentley and Iviano at all. What? He was supposed to go with THEM?

"El'ai. You have to - " T'zaim can't finish the thought. He winds up crouching, then sitting, laughing and laughing. "You're really good - he's really good - " He's trying to get it together, but each deep breath just erupts in more giggles. wtf is he laughing at? "You two might - you might - " More laughing. You get the picture.

D'cen gets a wary smile, "Well, one gold went up at the weyr, so Bailey was here cause you know." She makes little claw marks in the air to indicate fighting dragons. "But then Khaly decided to go up here." She shrugs helplessly, "Poor holders, no one is safe." She spends suddenly on D'cen to grab his shoulders, whether she gets them or not is another story. "NO ONE IS SAFE!" Then her eyes get wider, "And El'ai is here, and it is Bailey." Does he get the implications. DOES HE?

Artolome is old. And canny. And opportunisitc. He sticks his head into the room and utters a shrill whistle. "Eh, let's get while the gettin's good." He may or may not have arms around two sweet little things charmed by the roguish glint in his seamed face. And goldlust. Again. Canny. Opportunistic.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth is presumably handling this whole situation much better than his rider is. Now that the initial wash of pure, unadulterated delight is over, he's all srs bizness about Khalyssrielth.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: HE BETTER BE. Khaly's not quite sure if she's more in favor of just showing Dhiammarath how it is DONE or if she's busy trying to figure out who to pick from. This is totally a picking event, right? Oh Sekhaenkath, ichor of her ichor~~ (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Just kidding. (Khalyssrielth)

Oh Nika. You're talking to D'cen here. You can grab his shoulders and shake them too, even. He just looks blank for a good minute or so. "So?" His forehead scrunches up; bronze catchs gold, yay for possible glowing eggs? He's not… OH. Oh. Wait. "Oh. That sounds like it could be awkward. Please let me drink." Forget the bartender, this bronzerider leans right over the bar and grabs the bottle himself, uncorks it, and drinks it straight.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sekhaenkath totally thinks ichor is thicker than water… especially for sexy times. CHOOSE ME KHALYSSRIELTH. I AM NOT AN EXPLODING KITTEN, I PROMISE. (Sekhaenkath)

Oh, then there is Bentley, delightful. Just what they need. To be clumping. Discreetly, to answer Bentley's obvious, but not said, 'lets clean the place out first', a string of pearls is pulled partially from his pocket, and then shoved back in. "I might hang around," His already waggling eyebrows at some hot young thing across the room. Hey. Baby. Even if he is awkwardly shifting.

Somewhere, some dazed holder can be heard to question, "But if they, you know, won't their kids be all cross-eyed and have eleven toes and stuff?"

El'ai might be getting ignored, but he is STILL HERE. "I'm coming for you, Bailey, I'm coming for you. With my pumped up… " sex? "… kicks."

Nika grins at D'cen and nods, "Very awkward. It's going to be awkward for all of us. Waking up with holders. Ugh!" No offense, anyone. "Unless you win!" Look she'll cheer him on, as she just assumes every bronzer will be participating. "Then it won't be as bad for you." She glances around the room. "My pickin's are slim, man." Le. Sigh. She eyes the bottle. "You gonna share, or what?" They might as well get drunk together.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Raxsonath imagines Sekhaenkath as an exploding kitten, for everyone's edification. « Are you sure about that? Maybe she wants someone big and strong and sexsay. » Like him, obviously.

Bailey is probably going to break down and start crying here in a minute. :( "I hate you." It's not immediately obvious who she is talking to.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth catches that quip from Sekhaenkath and has one word in return « INBREEDER! »

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Starshine and darkness, Caelth is dodged and Dhioth is not in the right spot. Sikorth is there and a preferred mate. And YET, it is not TIME. (Dhiammarath)

Slim pickin's is right there next to you NIKA.

T'zaim: "You'd love - love - you'd live your eleven-toed baby, though!"

Like everyone here dragon or no, Khalyssrielth's influence is beginning to intoxicate those in attendance while the most naive think it's the heat and wine. The chaos of its timing is befriended by the wildling who doesn't seem in any hurry to go anywhere. "There you are, you saltsucker!" Kehm greets Bentley profoundly, face uplifted like they go way back. "Now? When t'fun's just starting?" The disorder is appealing, rivaling good sense. But disorder is also most opportune, a la Artolome. "Never know, you might learn something." He breaks away, AWOL or not? LIKE COLT.

F'in's brow furrows, "What's with those two?" El'ai and Bailey? "I mean, her, we're acquainted. Him…?"

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth is just thinking out loud here, but if those boys back at the Weyr don't get this situation resolved, is it technically possible to knock up Khaly and still get back in time to do the deed with Dhia?

Shebara is here. Watching this trainwreck in progress. There is definitely an amused smirk on her lips. There is also a very large drink in her hand. It is clear. It is not water.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Not with your balls still intact, Denivoth. (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Atmanth could do it.

They can clump all they want now, it's not as though anyone is paying attention to them. That's probably what Bentley is thinking… or maybe he's just too absorbed in the feeling of his suddenly-clingy date's arms around his waist to be practical. It's anyone's guess. Good thing she's too airheaded to notice that string of pearls, or the way her date is torn between eyeing her and eyeing up the valuables in the room. "Soon," is his answer to Kehm before the wildling breaks off. Go team pirate.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sekhaenkath likes the way Denivoth thinks… ONLY IT WILL BE HE taking his mother.

D'cen finishes chugging, and hands the bottle over to Nika without any further prompting than the request to share. "I plan on getting too drunk to think about it. That works, right?" To F'in, he elucidates: "They're siblings." Nuff said, he hopes. But don't feel bad, it took him a full minute for the implication to click.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Caelth wants to kill you all. Just because.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sekhaenkath thinks « I'm proud of my inbreeding, SIKORTH. »

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Not my fault you were in the WRONG SPOT CAELTH. « You saltsucker. » (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Dhiammarath thinks « HEY. That's MY salt sucker. »

Taking the bottle in little hands, Nika throws it back like a seasoned pro. And then hands it back, "Yah, that works really well. I mean, maybe, if you don't win, you still wake up in the morning. Next to some stranger." She shrugs helplessly. "Drinking fixes everything." So sayeth the wisdom of Niks. "He'd boink his own sister? Maybe he hasn't thought about it…" She shudders, or maybe he has. "I guess a stranger is better than a siblinging." And reaching over the bar she grabs her own bottle, lifting it. "To stranger sex."

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Neener neener: « I had him FIRST. » Take THAT. (Khalyssrielth)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth thinks « Its all about that bass, 'bout that bass. And Dhiammarath has ALL the base as far as Sikorth is concerned. Sorry, Khaly. Instead of fighting his way through that tight pack of chasers, Sikorth shoots straight up, like an arrow aimed at Timor. Its a risky strategy but one that hasn't failed him yet. Higher and higher until the queen is a shooting star beneath him. From up here, the whole field is laid out like a battle plan. »

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: As with all things that march down the ribbon of time, dancing down the hall of worlds, even this cataclysmic event must come to an end. Dhiammarath's flight is hard and fast, high and long; stamina will be the victor's tool for the first time, Southern's largest - Pern's largest - gold uses the fullness of her strength to outlast all of the babies that rise to fly, and those who weren't in it with their whole hearts. Sikorth flags, but he is still in the race, for he's caught her before and he'll try his best to catch her again. His battle plan almost works and perhaps even Cha'el marvels at his stamina (and it will be something to talk about for days to come), but it is in the process of dodging Caelth - does he feel the sting of that honey-tipped tail? - that Dhiammarath crash lands into Dhioth. Order and Starlight; threads of seduction are wound tight as night and day converge to twilight. (Dhiammarath)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Khalyssrielth thinks it's about time to wrap this little shindig up. She's smug in her CAUSED CHAOS. And besides, she wants to BEAT DHIAMMARATH TO IT. « Which one of you? Choices CHOICES. » Because she doesn't have Caelth. CAELTH WHY ARE YOU OVER THERE. Just think about what the second batch could do! But no. She turns an eye to her field, and it's, well. It's close. Who's gonna get her?

Hey! You know what just occurred to T'zaim? "Where are you guys gonna do it, anyway?" He comes out of his giggle fit long enough to peer around, through teary eyes, at all the flowers and the gawking holders.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Dhioth has been flying offense, by-and-large: ichor-drenched, the Oldtimer bronze loosens a snarl for the next competitor, a misfortunate beast from Te … no, Atrox. That wasn't a Telgar bronze? It seems to catch Dhioth by surprise, nothing but clear skies between him and the — OH SHIT, PROXIMITY WARNING, PROXIMITY WARNING. « Hi. » That's what you say when this happens, right? Right?

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Atmanth shakes his head at his clutchsib. « Smooth, brother. Smooth. »

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sekhaenkath thinks « I'm still here, mama. PICK ME, PICK ME. »

"I'M NOT." That's Bailey boldly moving forwards to grab T'zaim BY THE LABELS, hauling him up. "Shut up and kiss me." It's an order. Hopefully T'zaim doesn't mind a bossy bitch in bed. (Hoepfully the WHOLE SPRINGS doesn't mind it, because Khaly's letting LOOSE with her mojo up above.)

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Oh, okay, you'll do, Denivoth. If Bailey INSISTS. Ugh. (Khalyssrielth)

.. lapels even.

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth is the man!

"GOD BAILEY PICK SOMEONE, I REALLY DON'T WANT TO SCREW YOU!" El'ai is really totally not okay with this. And that's when Bailey's damn lifemate picks someone (Faranth, finally) that El'ai is like, RUNNING out of DODGE. Gross, gross, gross. He needs to bleach his brain, okay?

Oh, he finally figured it out?

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Denivoth, I mean, did some amazing acrobatics and feats of prowess, prolly, and dives or soars and totally ensnares Khalyssrielth with his manful aerial prowess. And the incestuous crisis was averted, yw.

El'ai is pretty, he doesn't need to be smart.

It would have, perhaps, been helpful at this particular event.

"To stranger sex." D'cen agrees, toasting with a clnk of the bottle because why the hell not. "But hey, at least there's no incest. I think T'zaim is about to get shredded by Bailey. GOOD LUCK MAN, GOOD LUCK. Hope you make it through alive! I heard she bites!"

T'zaim says, "Ow." He's in trouble, huh? :(

To hell with stealing shit. Bentley's just going to… casually disappear with date in tow. Y'all can figure out that business of sacking the place, right?

Kehm doesn't come back to reencounter the rest of the raiders, but maybe, just maybe, his ass will be back on the ship when the dust has settled.

T'zaim's in LOTS of Trouble. Well, that's Bailey's middle name, so it makes rational sense about now. What? Ahem. Holders are scandalized all over the Hold, and it's all Dhiammarath's fault. That's Khaly's story and she's sticking TO IT.

Iviano gives a look to Kehm. A come hither kinda look. Don't blame him, blame that dragon. But then he's gone, and there's a woman. Thank Faranth, and the two disappear.

Kehm deds.

T'zaim IS A DELICATE FLOWER, BE GENTLE WITH HIM

KICK HIS BUTT BAILEY

Bailey will probably be crushing some delicate flowers. I mean. There are a lot of those.

Nika just covers her eyes, and continues to drink from her bottle. "Good for T'zaim. Wonder what happened to his date."

< Southern Weyr > Khalyssrielth senses that: Sikorth thinks « Radio silence! Nothing but static crackles across the airwaves. Sikorth has signed off. (And gone to sulk where his rider can't throw rocks at him) »

F'in hisses a breath over his teeth, "Yeeee. Aye, that's…" he licks his lips. "Make it a double." The bartender's just lining them up at this point. "What's all that, then?" He gestures at the flowers. And then the toast, "Cheers, mate. Good on ya!" He tosses back a bolt of heat in a glass, snags a girl, T'zaim's date? — and disappears.

"Well. I don't think this was what they intended." Shebara comments to the nearest person. She'll just ah, be going off with the nearest person, now. Yes. Awkward stranger sex for the win?

Stranger sex for everyone!

Look, at least your awkward stranger sex isn't happening right out in front of everyone, okay?!

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